


Headlight Morning Glow

by Tasyfa



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Gay Character, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, M/M, POV Multiple, Unreliable Narrator, all of them - Freeform, do not copy to other sites, until he gets over it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2020-10-29 13:24:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasyfa/pseuds/Tasyfa
Summary: Come along on a journey, won't you? Where a resurrected teenager learns what it means to live in an alien world; a doctor re-evaluates everything he knows and the true meaning of his oaths; a widowed socialite taps into her hidden power; a psychic finds a way to connect with her ailing mother; a troubled loner teeters on the edge of a complete breakdown; and an unemployed scientist and a disabled soon-to-be ex-airman try to hold it all together, in the wake of the death of a messianic alien.* * * * *Picks up after S01E13, and is canon-compliant to season one. Multiple POVs (Alex, Isobel, Liz, Michael). Trigger warnings will be provided as individual chapter header notes, where required; I’m happy to summarise sections if anyone needs to skip for trigger reasons.(See author's note ch. 1 for important details.)





	1. Take Your Heart and Turn It Off

**Author's Note:**

> **ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK**  

> 
> This is one of those stories that may well piss you off, especially if the shipper goggles are on. It's a lot angstier than my other canon-compliant long fic (TtVG), in part because that diverged after 1x05 and this one is set after 1x13, aka a far darker jump point. If that's not what you're looking for, you may wish to hit the back button now.
> 
> **Pairings:** There will be both canon and non canon pairings, and I won’t be warning for shipping beyond this note. Endgame pairings are: Liz/Max, Alex/Michael, and Isobel/Kyle, as per the tags. Prior to endgame, anything goes. Again, if it’s going to bother you that a particular ship may be explored, then this may not be a story for you.
> 
> **Rating:** I've left it at Not Rated because a lot of chapters will have no more than swearing, but others will contain some degree of violent or sexual content. I _will_ put warnings in the opening notes for all chapters with such content.
> 
> If a reader needs to skip a particular chapter due to its warned content, I'm more than happy to provide a plot overview on request. Drop me a comment here or DM me on Tumblr (same username, and I do take anon asks), or catch me on Discord (same username with #9022 appended).
> 
> Hope you enjoy. It's gonna be a wild, epic ride. :D  
~ Tas

* * * * *

When his phone rang, Alex didn't check the number, expecting it to be Michael with some reason why his current whereabouts was anywhere but at home.

"Hey, where are you?" he answered.

"A-Alex?" The quavery voice on the other end was female, and familiar.

"Liz? What's wrong?"

"I need your help. Please," his heart wrenched at the way she was crying.

"Okay. Where are you, Liz? I can come to you but I need to know where you are," keeping his tone soft, soothing, even as his heart rate jumped.

Alex made his way to his vehicle as Liz tried to explain her location, and finally cut her off once he was seated. "Do you have the GPS location function active on your phone, Liz?"

"Um, let me --- yes, yes I do," she confirmed. "Does that help you?"

"Yes. Just stay on the line, okay? I'm going to be quiet while I do some computer stuff but I want you to keep talking to me. Help me find you, all right?" He was already switching to handsfree and hooking the phone up to his car, beginning a trace on the signal.

Having access to military modifications beyond those for his leg was a godsend sometimes.

Once Alex had pinpointed her location out in the desert, he started his engine and spoke up again. "I've got you now, Liz. Just stay on the line. You're going to help guide me right to you."

"I-I will, Alex, I will. Please hurry."

Her voice broke again and Alex swore silently. Whatever had happened, it was bad. The only time he'd ever seen Liz this upset was right after Rosa died.

She'd coped with that by running away. Alex wasn't going to let her do that this time.

When he saw the body on the cave floor, Liz's emotional state made perfect sense.

"I can't move him by myself, Alex. Help me get him in the car? We have to take him to the pod cave and put him in a good pod. Th-then he'll be safe until... He'll be safe," she repeated, insistent.

Alex knew they had hatched from pods; Michael had told him as much. But seeing one, well, he couldn't deny it felt strange. However, if he were understanding Liz correctly, this pod here wasn't suitable for Max, so they needed to move him.

Needed to move the body.

"Let me back my car as close as possible and open the hatch, then we can load him in." Alex gave her arm a squeeze. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Yeah, y-yeah," Liz stuttered, wrapping her arms around her middle. Alex took a good look at her. She wasn't a complete wreck, not yet. There was too much to do and she was clearly running on adrenaline.

His evaluation was, he could count on her to remain functional until Max was safely in stasis. The crash would come at that point, but Alex wouldn't need her help anymore by then, so they could cross that bridge when it arrived.

"Right back," he promised, and made his way to the cave entrance, only to stumble into a dark-haired woman coming in as he was exiting.

"Alex?" she said, before he could apologise, and he went still, recognising the voice.

He stared at her when she stepped away. Glowing, flawless skin, plump and healthy. Glossy black hair. Sports leggings and a T-shirt. Belatedly, Alex realised she must have been changing in Liz's car.

"Rosa?" surprise flavoured the question, but didn’t begin to express the explosion of incredulousness inside him at the sight of her, alive and well.

"Max Evans. The guy inside," she proclaimed. "Liz said he's some kind of healer and she'll explain everything once we get him somewhere safe. I assume that's where you come in?"

"You assume correctly. I'm just going to back up close now so we can move him," he kept it factual, not knowing what else to say. Alex didn't know how Rosa's corpse had come to be preserved, but he understood the most recent sequence of events: Max had used his healing ability on Rosa, resurrecting her and killing himself in the process.

Rosa simply nodded and moved out of the way, obviously sensitive to Liz's desire for speed and willing to wait for the explanations a little longer.

But Alex felt her gaze following him and he knew she'd be comparing 2018 Alex to the boy in her memory, and formulating questions, because while Liz didn't look all that different from in senior year, Alex was another story.

Most of the time, Alex felt as if every minute of the past decade was etched on his face and body, plainly visible to anyone who looked. He knew his gait wasn't even on this kind of terrain; he still babied his right leg a little when the footing was uncertain, and Alex didn't know how long it would take for that to completely fade.

Maybe it wouldn't until he was able to trust the prosthesis to support his full weight. If that were the case, if it relied on him learning to trust anything beyond himself to support him - be that man or machine - then Alex was well and truly fucked.

* * * * *

The pod cave was a complete mess. Liz looked around, seeing signs of a scuffle, but she didn't know how to interpret what she was seeing, and whatever had happened, it was done and therefore not relevant to her.

She crossed to the table with the large pot. It hadn't been here before, either, but the viscous liquid shining inside the pot was one Liz knew. A relieved sob escaped her throat and then she straightened her shoulders.

There was work to do.

"Alex, come here, please," she called, certain he would be examining the pods. His face upon entering the other cave had suggested he'd never seen them before.

He approached and Liz glanced sideways. "We need to cover Max's whole body with the solution. It alters the permeability of the pod membrane so we can get him in there."

"Right," he didn't sound too certain.

"It's exactly how we got Isobel in there when she was dying from the serum, so I know it works, Alex," her tone was strong, bordering on strident, and she looked over again as Alex touched her arm.

"Hey, if you tell me we need to cover Max in silver goop, then we cover him in silver goop. You're the expert here, Liz. I'm just the hired muscle."

She let out a tearful laugh. "Who knew when we were fifteen that you'd have enough muscle to hire?"

"Nobody," he agreed, although his smile didn't reach his eyes, either. But the moment of levity allowed Liz to collect herself and she began to scoop out the solution into the large bowl.

"Can you undress him, please? His clothes can't go in." She should do that part herself but she didn't think she'd make it without breaking down. Not so soon after they'd made love.

"Got it," Alex confirmed, and the quiet strength in his voice made Liz's throat close again. Maybe they’d drifted over the years, another relationship lost to her wanderlust and unceasing search for a place to call home. But she knew, _knew_ Alex would come and he would back her play, despite everything.

He'd been a rock for Liz for most of her life and not even war could change that.

"Okay, ready when you are."

Liz steeled herself and carried the bowl over, setting it beside the blanket where Max lay. Her breath began to speed up and Alex touched her arm again, giving her a reassuring smile when she looked at him.

"Would it help if we breathed in sync? I keep it nice and even, and you match it?"

Not trusting her voice, Liz nodded. She listened to Alex, watching his chest rise and fall, and slowly brought her own breath into the same rhythm. It helped, and she nodded again, indicating she was ready.

"If you get his legs and feet, please, I'll get his torso, and then we can put him on his side to do his back."

They worked quickly and quietly, coating Max with a liberal layer of the solution. There was enough in the pot to cover him three or four times over and Liz knew that meant something but she couldn't think about it.

Clinical detachment was her saviour right now. This was just a body; the goop, just some medical solution for its preservation. The pod, a weird kind of morgue freezer. It had no personal connection to her. It was dead, and deserved to be treated with dignity, but that was where it ended.

It didn't mean anything to her.

Liz kept the mantra going, chanting silently as she worked and breathed with Alex, his presence an equally silent comfort. At last the tall, broad form on the floor glistened silver from every angle, and the two of them struggled through the process of manoeuvring his dead weight into the waiting pod.

They were both covered in the goop by the time they were done, and Liz turned towards movement in the shadows, Rosa coming forward with the box of baby wipes Liz kept in the car.

"I figured you still had a stocked emergency kit in the trunk," her sister offered with a half smile, holding it out.

"Thanks." Liz took a handful out of the box and passed them to Alex, who began to wipe off the silver. She followed suit, numb, all her attention on cleaning her skin. Wipe after wipe after wipe, trying to scrub off the sheen she could still see.

"Liz. Hermanita. You are as clean as you're getting until you shower. Come on," Rosa said gently, in that protective tone Liz knew so well and hadn't heard in so long.

"Rosa," she choked out, the tears coming at last, and Liz fell into her sister's arms.

* * * * *

Michael parked in a sheltered spot a good distance from the cave and stalked towards the entrance. He could see tire tracks, signs another vehicle had been here recently, but there was no visual of it and he wasn't about to wander around searching.

At the cave entrance he could hear people ahead and slowed, moving carefully in case they were hostile. Michael readied himself to use powers if he had to, the feel of waiting energy prickling his skin, and entered the cave proper to find two women clinging together and crying.

Liz. And Rosa.

Michael's stomach plummeted and he let go of the energy, allowing it to disperse harmlessly into the air. Both Ortecho women, alive and well, meant Max had gone back to Noah's pod cave and done the impossible. He had raised the dead.

Swallowing against a surge of bile, Michael forced his gaze past the sisters to the pods. There, in the centre one, where Isobel had rested for weeks: there was Max.

He didn't hear the lost sound that clawed its way out of his throat, unable to focus on anything beyond the sight of Max. Floating, eyes closed, face serene as if he were resting, too. But Michael knew better.

"You son of a bitch," he hissed, crossing to the occupied pod. "You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you, Max? Always gotta have the last fucking word."

His laugh bore no resemblance to joy. "All these years, you've made the fucking rules. Me and Iz, we've been stupid enough to follow them, to actually trust that you might have a fucking clue, and what do you do? You fucking break every single one of them, asshole."

Michael was breathing hard now, fury warring with agony. He kicked the pod, boot bouncing off the membrane with no sign a blow had even landed. The whimper from Liz didn't really register.

"You were supposed to ask!" Michael thundered. "It wasn't your decision to make. Just like my hand wasn't your decision to make. But you made it, right over top of me, because of course you knew better than I did what I wanted. What I needed." An edge of hysteria began to weave through his tirade. "You never fucking knew before and last night was no fucking different."

He fell to his knees, pressing his forehead to the pod membrane, his eyes closing, volume dropping to a hoarse whisper. "Why, Max? Why did you even bother bringing me back? Why didn't you just let me die right there on your floor?"

Further words would not come, strangled by the tears Michael could no longer stop. The outburst left a hollow ache in his chest, clearing the path for the emptiness to creep back in, the pain of absence he had sensed which had dragged him out here to confront what had turned out to be a ghost.

"Guerin." That voice wasn't any more expected than Rosa's face had been - less so, in fact - and Michael stuffed down his grief, twisting around to see Alex.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I asked him to help me," came the answer from behind him.

Michael didn't bother looking at Liz. He uttered a harsh laugh. "Nice to know that after spending weeks on end in a lab together, you still don't trust me. Or maybe you just didn't want me moving Max's body since you know I moved Rosa's."

He took a savage satisfaction in her pained cry.

"Guerin," Alex repeated, and Michael heard a little more steel in it. "What happened in here last night?"

Michael glanced around at the debris, remembering. "Noah happened. He took control of Isobel, used her as bait, with the intention of podding all three of us as an offering for whoever fucking shows up at some indeterminate future point once the civil war is over."

"There's a war going on? On your home planet?"

The concern coupled with the matter-of-fact way Alex spoke those words threatened to break Michael. "Apparently. Of course, there's no one else I can ask to verify his bullshit because they all fucking blew up. And I can't ask Noah for any further information because Max pulled a cut-rate Thor act and channelled fucking lightning into him until he died."

"Max killed last night?" Liz's question wavered.

"Oh, Maxie boy had a jam-packed twenty-four hours. He shot at me, resurrected me after Noah took me out getting loose, delivered Isobel right into the loving arms of her husband, had a heart attack, let Noah knock me around again while Max charged up in the storm - those are my bloodstains in the corner, by the way. And so was the T-shirt. I lied to your face," he sneered at Alex. "Noah left me unconscious in the corner and went out of the cave and got barbecued."

"What --- what happened to the body?" Liz managed. Michael could hear her sniffling, Rosa too, but he pushed aside any softer feelings. He had no space for them right now.

"I got rid of it. Obviously. I mean, it's what I do, Liz!" Michael was on his feet again, arms outstretched as he spun in place. "Everybody else does the murdering. I'm just the cleanup crew." After all, what else was he good for?

"Guerin," now it held a warning. Fucking Alex. He could imbue so much emotion into a single word when he bothered fucking using any.

"Manes," Michael shot back, finally looking his way. Black jeans, maroon sweater, close-fitting enough to outline the muscles in his torso. Alex looked _good_.

Alex sighed, and the sound set Michael's teeth on edge immediately. "Now that Max is safely in the pod, Liz and Rosa are going to come out to my cabin. Kyle's going to meet us there so he can examine Rosa, make sure everything is all right."

Michael barked a laugh, all pain and cynicism. "He wouldn't have done a half-assed job. I have no doubt Rosa is the healthiest she's ever been."

He watched Alex move, slow and careful, edging closer to him. Close enough for Michael to feel the ever-present tug at his soul and he stepped back, out of range.

Alex halted, those big dark eyes trained on him, and Michael wanted to snarl. He didn't, listening instead as Alex opened his mouth, "Do you need anything, Guerin? I know yesterday was... a lot, and it doesn't sound like it got much better." The way he tilted his head, concern knitting his brows together, felt like a physical blow, and Michael retaliated with interest.

"Yeah, Alex, there is something you can do for me." He paused a beat, watching Alex's expectant face, and smiled nastily. "Leave me the fuck alone."

Michael turned on his heel and stalked out the same way he'd come in.

[end chapter one]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[Pre-Glow Verse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1491500):** this is a series for within-HMGlow universe fic that takes place prior to HMGlow / pre-S01. Currently has two sequential Alex/Michael fics for summer 2008. Any additional stories added, I’ll mention in the notes for the next chapter of HMGlow posted thereafter.
> 
> **Acronym:** please join me in shortening to HMGlow! I’m very attached to the fic title because reasons, but I didn’t think about the acronym until after I got attached, and I’m in the UK where HMG = Her Majesty’s Government. So I beg of you, please shorten to HMGlow with me instead, lol.  
~ Tas


	2. I Will Lay Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: reference to suicidal ideation, reference to past child abuse, people being assholes...
> 
> Also, all the love and gratitude to Lire-Casander for beta reading and Spanish wrangling for me! Not just for this chapter, but for the whooole thing, bless her. <3  
~ Tas

* * * * *

When she coasted to a stop beside Michael's truck and exited her car, Isobel could see the man in question coming down from the pod cave. She tapped her foot impatiently until he came into conversational distance. "Well? What's wrong with Max? Did Liz try some funky new serum? And why weren't you answering your phone, Michael?"

"My phone is on silent, because I didn't know who else was in the cave when I got here," he snapped and Isobel reared back, surprised. Michael didn't talk to her like that. Everyone else, maybe, but not her.

"Okay," she modulated her tone a little. "So who is in there?"

"Among the living, we have Alex Manes and both Ortecho sisters. And among the dead, we have Max."

"No." Isobel refused to believe it. Categorically refused. Then she caught up with the mention of two women and her hands flew to cover her mouth. "No. He brought her back? Rosa Ortecho? But we agreed ---"

"Since when has Max given a fuck about what we've agreed?" Bitterness oozed from Michael's voice.

"But, Michael. Surely he wouldn't have," cutting herself off when he raised his eyebrows and his left hand, the newly smooth surface shimmering as the handprint began to rise on his skin like an iridescent bruise.

"No," Isobel repeated, unable to accept that Max had truly been so _stupid_. But the blank hole in her mind where he had always been and the panic churning in her stomach suggested Michael was telling her the truth. "I need to see him."

Michael caught her, his years of manual labour easily holding Isobel in place. "You can't. Not until the others leave. Liz has got him in the pod so he'll be fine until we can figure out what to do. If it can be reversed."

"Let. Me. Go," she demanded, struggling in his grip, becoming frantic. She had to get to Max.

"Izzy," he said quietly, some of his fight draining away like it was leaching into her body instead. "Not now. There is a girl up there who will see you as her murderer. Let her be. You can't help Max right now but you can help Rosa by leaving her alone."

"Oh, what do you know?" Isobel spat, shaking loose to stand there, vibrating in rage. He let her, though she could see he remained coiled for action should she try to get past him again. The edge of a second handprint shimmered at her, peeking out from under Michael's jacket collar, dislodged in their struggle.

She tossed her head. "You were never connected to Max like I am. How do you know I can't do anything? Just because you can't?" her laugh mocked him. "Or because his precious human girlfriend can't?"

The taunts struck home, a muscle jumping in Michael's jaw, but he didn't budge. "And you can try. Later."

"Is it really for Rosa's sake, or do you just not want to face Alex?" That, too, landed, and she pushed harder, driven by fear and anger. "Can't handle the truth so you don't think I can, either?"

"Isobel," he gritted out. "I told you about all that this morning, remember? When you decided your marital woes trumped my flimsy closet?"

His tone absolutely infuriated her and she yelled, "If Alex is such a crash landing, then wear some fucking pads, Michael!"

Time seemed to stop as movement caught her eye, the shout carrying easily to the plateau in front of the cave entrance, where she now saw three figures turn to look at her. Two women with long, dark hair who looked shocked.

One man with spiky hair who looked wounded, his expression one of raw pain - for a minute or so, anyway. Then his features became impassive and he walked away, taking the women with him.

When she looked at Michael again, his face held the same pain and Isobel deflated. "I'm sorry."

"Doesn't matter," he shook his head. "Already told him to stay away from me. You just filled in some of the why." Michael sighed. "Get in the truck, Isobel."

"What? No," she protested. "We can go in now, they're leaving!"

"We don't know what they're doing," he corrected. "Could be leaving, could be getting stuff from the car. We'll come back."

"But ---" she subsided at the look he gave her. It shouldn't be possible for Michael to hurt so much and still be functioning. "Okay. Let me get my bag and lock the car." It would be safe enough out here until they returned.

* * * * *

Alex waited in the living room with Liz while Kyle used his bedroom to examine Rosa. He felt numb, now, indifferent to the biting words from and about Michael.

He supposed he was a crash landing. Immovable object to Michael's unstoppable force. Immolation upon contact, every fucking time.

"Are you okay?" Liz asked quietly.

The 'of course' died on his lips at her searching look. "I don't know, Liz. I was supposed to meet Guerin at his trailer today; that's where I was when you called. He wasn't there. But with all this going on, on top of what happened yesterday?" Alex blew out a breath. "I'm not surprised he forgot. Or that he doesn't want to see me right now."

"Why, what happened yesterday?"

They both looked up as Kyle and Rosa re-entered the room. From Kyle's expression, Alex knew he'd heard Liz's question.

"I have a clean bill of health," Rosa announced, flopping onto the couch beside Liz. The two pressed together, hip to hip, both craving the closeness. "So what did happen yesterday?"

Alex and Kyle exchanged a look. They'd explained some bits to Rosa already - aliens were real, living in Roswell, and came in good and bad varieties like humans - but Caulfield was... Caulfield was hard.

Kyle took it on. "We've been working on some old documents and found info that led us to an officially abandoned prison which had some heat signatures that didn't read as human. Too warm."

"Wait, that's real? I wasn't imagining things?" Liz queried.

"Oh, it's real," Alex sighed. "It's not a big enough difference to really call attention to itself, though, unless you're using some pretty sophisticated equipment."

"Or you're nailing them," Rosa interjected, and a wave of sadness rolled over Alex.

"Or that."

"Anyway," Kyle continued pointedly, "the two of us and Guerin went out there yesterday. Turned out, it was being used as a prison for the aliens who'd survived the crash." He shook his head, sorrow evident in his voice. "In trying to break them out, we set off a failsafe and the building went up, along with every prisoner."

"Oh my God," Liz breathed in horror.

"One of them was Michael's mother. He had enough time to connect with her, through the damaged glass door to her cell, and then we ran," Alex spoke in a matter-of-fact tone but he couldn't disguise the tears clogging his throat.

"You didn't tell me that," Kyle murmured, his face heartsick. "I thought it was just because they were his people. That woman he thought he recognised, she was his mom?"

"Yeah," he confirmed.

"So, she was there? She was right there, his whole life?" Liz sounded as teary as Alex felt.

"Far as we know," Kyle answered. "Guerin could sense them from outside the building, kind of a wordless distress call from what he said, but it's a hundred miles away from Roswell."

"And they were using some high quality tech camouflage for the building, plus there was that one door Guerin's powers didn't work on, so they might have had some kind of psychic shielding, too," Alex added.

"Psychic shielding sounds possible, given some of their abilities," mused Liz. "If they were in captivity since the crash, who knows what the captors learned from them."

Alex watched her look quizzically at Kyle, unable to voice the question, and Kyle nodded gravely. "It was bad. I'd describe most as feral, in response to what had been done to them."

The room fell silent. It stretched into minutes, a dozen, longer, each lost in their own thoughts until Rosa piped up, "I have a question for Alex."

"What's that?" Alex nodded, indicating she could go ahead.

"Why was Curly being such a dick to you?"

He let out an explosive sigh. "You mean besides me having asked him to accompany us to check out the prison and finding what we did and having a literal minute with his mom before she got blown up?"

Rosa rolled her eyes. "Duh, I get him being upset. But a crash landing sounds kinda personal."

"A crash landing? Seriously?" Kyle scoffed as he finally sat down.

"We overheard part of what looked like an argument between him and Isobel. It's... I mean, obviously they're both upset about Max, you know? And as for being personal," Alex shrugged with a small, sad smile. "It's not unwarranted, given our past."

"Okay, Alex? What past, exactly?" Liz pressed. "Because Maria told me Michael is the guy from the museum, but that was a long time ago, and it was a happy thing from the way you talked about it back then."

"She told you? That, it wasn't hers to tell," he frowned. "I never said who it was because I didn't want to out him."

"Why'd you tell Maria then? And why doesn't he look surprised?" Rosa glared pointedly at Kyle.

Alex sighed, fingers fiddling with the edge of his sleeve cuff. "Kyle figured it out himself from us being holed up underground for weeks on end, poring over alien-related data, a good chunk of which is about Guerin because my asshole father has a vendetta against him."

Rosa wrinkled her nose, eyebrows raising. "Why?"

"Me."

"Your dad knows about the museum? He got mad because you kissed a boy?" Liz asked incredulously, and Alex wavered between laughter and tears for how naïve she was being.

"No, not the museum. He found out about, later. What happened later, I mean." It was so hard to form the words, even in these imprecise utterances. He couldn't bring himself to be more explicit despite Liz's puzzled expression.

"Ay dios mío, I thought you went to college, Elizabeth. Did you spend every waking moment in a lab?" Rosa teased, exasperated. "He's talking about nailing aliens. Well, one bitchy curly-haired alien, anyway."

Expressive dark eyes found his, filled with compassion despite the blunt sass. It was strange to realise Rosa was so much younger than them now, especially when her gaze held the same sense of timelessness Alex had always seen there.

"So he escalated," Liz sounded sure, finally understanding.

"Yeah," Alex nodded.

"So that's how _he_ knows. What about Maria?" Rosa reiterated.

He flicked a glance at Liz, finding her returning the look with knowledge on her face. Of course; she and Max had gone on that road trip, too. Alex answered Rosa, "I saw Guerin with her necklace, the one with the resin pendant with the flowers that her mom gave her. Let's just say there was enough context for me to understand they'd hooked up. I thought I should clear the air with Maria, let her know that I knew, and, well, that I still have feelings for him."

"You told her you're still in love with him," Liz tried to clarify, and Alex's gaze skittered away from her as he squirmed internally.

"Well, not in so many words. She was in psychic mode and guessed most of it from my face. Kind of like Kyle did."

Rosa snorted a laugh. "It's good to see not everything has changed. Getting clear verbal statements out of you is still like pulling teeth, piranga escarlata. It's a wonder you ever got laid."

The comment stung and Alex retorted, "It's not like Guerin was my first time. Or the last." Not back then, anyway. Now, yes. He hadn't been with anyone since the day of the drive-in, when the simple pleasure of their quasi date had been suffocated by the mudslide of his father's quiet reminder of his hate and his power.

"Wait, you were having sex senior year and you never said anything? I told you all about Kyle!" Liz exclaimed, sounding both surprised and offended.

Kyle groaned, "I already apologised for that, Liz."

The tension in the room dissipated in laughter at Kyle's good-natured expense.

Alex shifted back into planning mode. "I think Rosa needs to stay here for the time being, at least until we figure out a cover story."

Kyle nodded in agreement. "You're far enough out of town that no one's going to stumble over her by accident."

Liz's face said she wasn't happy about it and her sigh underscored her reluctance, but she nodded, too. "Yeah, it's the best option. Max's is on the edge of town but it's still inside the limits, and," she paused, visibly preparing her words, "it's also currently a very obvious crime scene, with the French doors busted right off the frame and blood everywhere."

"Michael's," Alex whispered, his chest tightening. "In the cave, when he was talking at the pod, he said something like, Max should have left him to bleed out on the floor."

"That's what he said? I couldn't hear him when he wasn't yelling," Liz apologised.

"It is, yeah," he confirmed, watching his fingers clutch each other in his lap.

"Shit," Kyle swore, quietly but with feeling behind it. A feeling they shared. "Do we need to set a suicide watch, do you think?"

Suddenly everyone was looking at Alex for answers and the only thing he had to offer was an edged laugh, memories rising hard. "I don't know. It didn't do anything for me when I was at Walter Reid. Spite got me through that, knowing it would piss off my father if I stayed alive."

A little too personal, maybe, if the stricken looks told him the truth, and Alex's expression shuttered as he shrugged.

"Why were you at Walter Reid? Isn't that a military hospital?" Rosa enquired, reminding him she didn't know yet.

He leaned down and knocked on the prosthetic leg, seeing comprehension flood Rosa's face at the metallic ringing sound. When he straightened, Alex saluted her, like he would a superior officer. "Captain Manes, Air Force, at your service."

"You actually enlisted." For all that it was phrased as a statement, the level of disbelief suffusing the words made it a question. "Why the fuck did you do that?"

Despite himself, Alex laughed. No one else had come right out and asked like that - not then, not now. "It was the safest course of action at the time."

"Safest?" Kyle scoffed. "You lost your leg in a war zone!"

He shrugged again. "Not until my third and final deployment. I had several years injury free before that happened, with nothing more dangerous than bumps and bruises."

Kyle picked it up first. "Which was an improvement over being at home. Yeah."

"Wait. _He_ knows about your dad?" Rosa hissed.

"Yes, _he_ knows about Jesse Manes. Because _he_ is a grown man now, not an asshole teenager," Kyle snapped. "Which is more than I can say for you."

"Kyle," Liz placated, with the little head tilt that said she was disappointed. It hadn't changed any in her years away and Alex was grateful it was aimed at someone else. He remembered how it could sting.

"Yeah," Kyle sighed, nodding at Liz. "Sorry, Rosa."

She shrugged one shoulder and let her head roll to the opposite side, gaze trained on Kyle the entire time. "No offence taken. I am nineteen." She straightened then with a startled look, hands going to her stomach. "And I think I'm hungry. I assume you have food, piranga escarlata?"

"Yeah, of course, whatever's there is up for grabs. I'm a dead plain cook but I can operate more than the microwave," Alex declared with a light laugh. "Do you want ---"

"Alex, you might be older than me now, but I grew up in a kitchen, tío. I'll be fine," Rosa patted his arm on her way past, disappearing into the kitchen.

"Um, okay, I'll bring supplies tomorrow," Liz spoke quietly. "More groceries, of course, but also toiletries and clothes. My gym kit will do for overnight, but I'll need to take her to Albuquerque to go shopping."

"I'll cover that, Liz," Kyle stated firmly. "You do the actual shopping and I'll foot the bill." Her face scrunched and he added gently, "Let me do this, please. I want to be involved, you know? She clearly doesn't want to spend time with me right now, and you're unemployed at the moment, so this is a good compromise."

"Fine," Liz agreed with an impatient gesture. "We can text about it later and work out the details."

That seemed good enough for Kyle, whose attention shifted to Alex. "You gonna be okay, just the two of you?"

"Yeah, I'll manage. I have a good stereo," he offered with a half smile. "I can start catching her up slowly on stuff."

"Well you did used to be friends," Liz smiled.

"We were, yeah," Alex agreed, blowing out a breath. Friends who'd talked about the kind of stuff he didn't want to go anywhere near in the present day. "Speaking of friends, is one of you going to..." he let it trail off, unable to voice the question.

"Yes," Liz nodded. "I'm going to check in on Michael, and Kyle's going to do the same for Isobel."

"I am?"

"Yes, Kyle, you are."

"Alright. Text me her address, I've never been there," he acquiesced, standing. "Manes, let me know if you need anything."

Alex simply nodded, and watched him give Liz a quick hug. Then Kyle was gone and Liz went into the kitchen to tell Rosa what was going on.

Leaving Alex alone to consider the many, many ways this could all go horribly wrong.

[end chapter two]


	3. Compressional Boundaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the gap. I probably should have stuck to the original plan of not starting to post this until I'd finished TtVG and gotten farther into the writing of HMGlow, but I wanted to post the beginning on what would have been my mom's birthday, for personal reasons, so here we are. Hopefully you're still with me! <3  
Warning for brief mention of suicide.  
~ Tas

The knock seemed friendly enough: nice and even, not too forceful yet strong enough to be heard; but Isobel was in no mood for company. Maybe if it had been Michael. But then, Michael wouldn't have bothered knocking.

She remained quiet, hoping the neighbour or mail delivery person would go away, and then her phone buzzed with an incoming text.

{{~It's Kyle. Liz gave me your details. I'm the one at the door. Could you let me in, please? I just want to make sure you're OK.~}}

Kyle, huh? He'd been good to her in the hospital, treating her like a person despite knowing she wasn't human and she was - or so they'd all believed at the time - a murderer.

Kyle could come in.

Isobel rose from the couch, pulling her robe tight around her, and went to fetch the doctor.

"Would you like coffee or tea?" the words flowing easily as she hung up Kyle's coat and directed him where to put his shoes.

"Uh," he checked his watch and smiled at her. "Do you have decaf?"

"Decaffeinated coffee and herbal teas, yes," Isobel spoke as she led him to the kitchen and gestured for him to sit at the rustic wood table. "I'm going to guess that doctors are like lawyers, with a bloodstream that's half blood, half coffee. Am I right?"

"Pretty much," he admitted with a laugh, and Isobel smiled as she started to make the coffee.

The normality felt strange. She'd done this before, so many times she was on autopilot, her mind running down the contents of cupboards and fridge for options she could offer as a snack, while her hands measured grinds and water and got the machine going.

"Are you hungry? I have everything for a very nice ham sandwich, with Emmental cheese and baby salad greens. You seem like a ham and cheese kind of guy."

"You don't have to feed me, Isobel."

The kindness in his voice made her stomach lurch and she shot back, "Of course I do. You're a guest in my home." Trying to cling to the routine she knew so well.

This morning, finding herself a widow with a lifetime of hidden abuse come to light, she'd felt strong. Because while she had loved the man she'd thought Noah was, he had never risen higher in her heart than her brothers. Whatever games her husband had played in her psyche, whatever damage he'd inflicted, Isobel had known she would overcome it, because she'd had Max and Michael.

And then she didn't.

Her breath caught on what she refused to accept was a sob. The press of a hand against hers confused her, and she glanced up from the fingers that weren't hers, startled to find Kyle standing in front of her.

"Isobel, I've injected you with a deadly serum, put you on an IV drip of pure nail polish remover, and held you while you literally puked up your insides. I'm not a guest here. I'm your physician, and your friend."

The stark reminder of the horrible situations Kyle had already seen her through, the deep well of compassion in his medical care of her, sliced through the last of her defenses and Isobel began to cry, great, heaving sobs that shook her slim frame and snotted up her nose even as Kyle drew her to the nearest chair. She collapsed onto his lap with her head on his chest, letting everything wash through and out of her with the tears.

*

Usually when Liz came to see Michael at the junkyard, he'd be in one of the lawn chairs around the fire pit. Waiting for her before they went down into the bunker together.

Today the pit was cold, and Michael was nowhere to be seen. No, wait; a flicker of light behind the newsprint covering the Airstream windows.

"It's Liz," she called as she knocked. Resounding silence to begin with but when she raised her knuckles for the third time, she heard a faint click and the door swung open.

"Welcome to my humble abode. What brings you here?"

She ducked inside, following the voice, to find Michael sitting sideways on the bed with his back against the trailer wall and his feet dangling off the edge of the mattress. He cradled a glass of amber liquid in his hand and the familiar silhouette of a nail polish remover bottle sat on the shelf behind the bed, cozied up to the bottle of cheap whiskey. By the looks of him and the level of the whiskey, though, he hadn’t been drinking long.

“I wanted to see how you were doing, is all. Kyle told me about what happened. About Caulfield.”

“Oh, Kyle told you, did he? Yeah, that was fun. Good road trip,” he dripped mockery with every word and it exasperated Liz, but she kept it out of her voice.

“Alex filled in some blanks, too. About your mom. I’m so sorry, Michael. For you losing your mom, and for Max,” because it was his grief, too, even though the guilt was hers.

His forehead creased, like he didn’t know what to do with the words, and after a couple of false starts, Michael murmured, “Thanks.” He looked up at her and the bewilderment on his face nearly broke Liz’s heart. “That’s what you say, right? Sorry for your loss, thanks for caring?” He sounded lost, now, childlike in a way, instead of the charge-ahead fight he’d been exhibiting up to this point.

“More or less,” she agreed. Liz gave him a little smile, thinking, then made a decision and kicked off her shoes, climbing onto the bed to sit beside him. “You got anything to drink that isn’t alcoholic?”

“Bottled water?”

“Perfect,” she sighed, and had to laugh when the door to the tiny fridge swung open and a bottle floated towards her, its sides dripping with condensation after exiting the chilled environment. She wrapped a hand around it and waited a second for its weight to drop fully into her grip, giving Michael that window to let go of the bottle before Liz tried to move it. It was a system they’d worked out together over the weeks in the lab brewing serum; his mind was definitely stronger than her hand.

“Rosa healthy?” he asked as Liz cracked open the water.

“Yes, you were right. She’s totally healthy.”

A smile ghosted over his lips. “When Max commits to something, he throws everything he’s got into it.” The sharp laugh that followed held considerably less fondness. “Of course, that’s why he’s dead, stupid fucker.”

“Michael ---” she started, only to fall silent at the sudden intense gaze. Liz had never noticed before how pretty his eyes were but it was hard to miss from a few inches away.

“Look, Liz. I’ll help you every way I can. I’ll spend all my free time in a lab, with and without you, until we can either bring him back or we concede it isn’t possible. But don’t ask me to not be angry.”

She nodded, confessing quietly, “I’m angry too, Michael. He had no right to make that decision. I-I don’t, I really don’t _know_ what I would have decided to do, if I had known it might be possible for Rosa. But I didn’t. I didn’t know, and I didn’t choose, and I’m not okay with that, bien lo sabe Dios, but I’m also not okay with not trying. Not when I do know it’s possible now for Max.”

It felt like he was trying to see into her soul, for how searching his look was, and Liz tried to be open. Tried to let him see whatever it was he needed to see. It must have worked, because he gave a sharp little nod, more of an upward chin tilt really, and leaned back against the wall to sip his whiskey.

Liz imitated both posture and action with her water, and sighed. “You know, I phoned Alex because I’ve always phoned him when I was in trouble. He picked me up off the playground when I fell off the swings in primary school and took me to the nurse,” she laughed a little, remembering. “That’s how we started being friends. And in high school, when Kyle and I were in an ‘off’ phase, I went on a date with this guy to this club in Clovis. It ended up being horrible and the battery died on my phone and I was standing in a phone booth at some 7-11 or whatever, calling Alex at two in the morning to come get me.” She lifted the bottle into the air. “He brought me one of these and a bag of chips, and passed me kleenex and makeup remover wipes for the ride home. He’s just always been there for me.”

The rasp of Michael’s chuckle held cynicism and something Liz couldn’t identify. “Yeah, I could see that. Something he and Max have in common: once accepted, always protected."

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His gaze briefly met hers, but didn’t offer any enlightenment. She wasn’t sure his words, did, either. “It means, Liz Ortecho, you are a remarkably easy person to commit to.”

Liz snorted, cynical. “Sure, Mikey.” 

She was grateful when he didn’t push. The silence that fell wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but she didn’t feel any pressure to break it. It simply was.

Michael was the one who spoke, in the end. “I’ll go by his house tomorrow and clean up. I can source new doors easily enough, without drawing undue attention.”

Without drawing undue attention. It was a phrase, a concept, Liz hadn’t thought much about before coming back to Roswell and getting shot. She’d spent most of her life trying to attract a particular kind of attention, in opposition to the attention foisted on Rosa. Trying to deflect the town’s scrutiny onto herself, with her perfect grades and her perfect extracurriculars and her perfect attendance record and her complete lack of any record that wasn’t academic. Trying to do the impossible and outshine the supernova that was her sister.

Trying to be enough to make her mother stay.

She sighed; moping about long-ago departures was neither relevant nor helpful. “I’ll help.”

Michael shook his head. “Not necessary. It’s my mess. I’ll handle it.”

Liz pursed her lips. “As long as handling it doesn’t involve adding to it.”

“What? Plain English, Liz.”

She hesitated, debating with herself how much to say, then decided to be as straightforward as she thought Michael would probably be. “Part of why I came over here was because of what you said in the pod cave, about bleeding out. I wanted to ask you point blank if you’re thinking about suicide.”

“Suicide,” he echoed blankly. “What, you’re serious?” His glance seemed to confirm that she was, indeed, serious, and Michael laughed, a wrecked sound that had no mirth in it. “No, Liz. I have no plans to commit suicide. Isobel needs me. Fuck, the last thing she needs is for me to disappear on her, too.”

As far as Liz could tell, he was telling the truth, and she nodded. “Okay. Thank you for being honest with me. I just, I was concerned. About my friend.”

“Yeah,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, and the word sounded like agreement even if the tone didn’t so much. The shimmer caught her eye.

“Would you mind, could I look at your hand?”

“No.” Instant shutdown, and Liz sighed internally. Misstep.

“Okay. I wanted to look at the handprint. I haven’t seen one on someone else.”

A slow nod and Michael pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck, exposing another bit of shimmer. “I’m a 2-for-1 deal.”

She chuckled, setting the capped water bottle between her knees and twisting to try to get a better look. Pulling at the fabric, Liz made an impatient sound. “Can you ---”

“Hang on. Let go for a sec,” resigned amusement in the request. Liz let go, shifting back slightly, and Michael reached over to the counter to put his glass down, then bent both elbows to place his hands on his back and pulled his shirt up and off, tossing it aside and leaning back against the wall, head tilted away from her. “There ya go.”

“Thank you.” Now she could see and Liz bent close to examine the shape imprinted on Michael’s skin, mostly on his neck but with the lower edges spreading onto the upper slope of his shoulder tendon, fingertips nearly to his nape and heel of the hand resting on the side of his throat. She was reminded anew of how large Max’s hands were and shoved aside the resulting pang. Now was not the time. “Stabbed in the jugular?”

“Yep. Broken glass syringe. Guess the few remaining drops of antidote weren’t enough to jumpstart my cellular repairs.”

She couldn’t help the laugh. “Not that fast, no,” smiling when he chuckled, too. It was a much more natural sound, less forced. Good; maybe Michael was relaxing a little bit. Science settled them both.

An idea occurred to Liz. “Michael, have you ever tried putting the handprints together? See if it has any effect?”

“Never had more than one before, but I can try.” He raised his arm once she’d moved out of the way, grimacing as he manoeuvred his wrist to try to bring the two patches of skin together, finally pressing it down with his other hand. It wasn’t 100% contact, but iridescence was definitely touching iridescence. “Jesus, this would have been so much easier if Noah had been left-handed.”

A giggle escaped her. “Any reaction?”

Michael held the pose for another couple of minutes then shook his arm out. “Nada. You want to try with yours, assuming it’s up now?”

Liz was going to protest, out of habit more than anything, she thought, but Michael’s raised eyebrows stopped her. “You knew?”

“He healed me last night, so, yeah. I could feel him today.” He grimaced, eyes shutting tight for a moment as if he were trying to choose his words. “Don’t be embarrassed. I wasn’t, like, _present_ or anything, just getting hits of emotion from him, and that was the happiest he’s ever been.” Quietly he added, “I’d forgotten what happiness like that felt like.”

She wanted to ask when he'd had it, but Liz was piecing together what she’d been learning the past couple days about Alex’s relationship with Michael and she suspected she already knew the answer. She absolutely knew it would be a poor idea to ask about Alex right now, regardless, so she let the comment disappear into the ether and looked down her top instead, finding the telltale shimmer. “Yeah, it’s visible now. Are you okay if I place your hand?”

“I’m not about to grope you, especially not with the back of my hand, you know,” he sounded amused, and Liz rolled her eyes.

“I know that, Michael. I trust you. It’s going to be easier for me to see is all.”

He nodded and held out his hand. Respecting his earlier wishes to not have her inspect it, Liz didn’t really look as she drew it close, not until she had him almost in position, her jacket pushed down her shoulder, tank top and bra straps shoved aside, and she watched the two sections of imprinted skin approach each other, trying to get them to match up as closely as she could.

“It feels warm,” he said, surprised.

"Has a human ever felt warm to you before?"

"Uh, once, yeah. One of the other kids in the group home. Turned out she had the flu and was running a temperature of, like, 102 F. Apparently, that's really high for a human child."

"It is, yeah, dangerously high," Liz agreed. She could feel his hand against the front of her shoulder but his skin felt uniformly warm to her.

"Can you feel that?"

"If you mean your hand, yeah, but otherwise," she realised as she said it that it wasn't quite true. "No, no, there's sort of a... buzzing, maybe? Is that what you feel?"

"That's as good a description as any," Michael agreed. "But I can't get it stable."

She sighed. “Maybe because I can’t get the marks to line up fully.”

“Okay, well, I’m starting to get a cramp, so.” He pulled his hand free and Liz groaned in frustration while Michael shook out his fingers and massaged his knuckles.

“What about... In the sequence of events you gave, Max healed your throat before he did your hand, right? So maybe there's a primary versus secondary effect, like-like the second one doesn't have the full effect, it's diluted in some way," she speculated.

Michael sighed. "Again, I've never had two before. And I don't remember a time when Iz and I both had one, so it's all new territory for me."

"Did you experiment a lot?"

"No." His gaze went distant; remembering, Liz assumed. "After what happened with Isobel and the drifter, he wouldn't use his powers on purpose for a while. Then he discovered he could use them to heal. Patched me up a few times, when it was safe to do so." One side of his mouth lifted in something that barely resembled a smile. He didn't say as much but she figured the other condition was if he had let Max heal him. She couldn't see Michael submitting to a lingering emotional connection very often.

Liz put her hand on his shoulder, giving it a friendly shake then letting go. "How did he discover it?"

"Butterfly," Michael huffed a small laugh. "It was stuck in the back screen door at the Evanses with a torn wing. He was easing it free of the mesh when next thing we knew, his hand was glowing, and then it flew away, perfect."

She couldn't help but smile. "Sounds like Max."

"Yeah."

Silence descended again and Liz sipped at her water, thinking. The minimal experimentation Max and his siblings had done with his healing abilities and the residual handprint meant they had no baseline even. The one time Liz had taken readings from Max, all she'd really learned was that his emotions affected his powers and that he could discharge a lethal amount of electricity. Something he'd clearly done last night with Noah.

They needed to take the opportunity while they had it. "Michael ---"

"What do you need me to do?" he interrupted, laughing a little at her surprise. "You have a shit poker face, Liz."

She snorted. "I know. Okay, listen, I want to try more with the handprints, but, I think I'm going to want to get good and drunk afterwards, and no offense but I don't think this is the best place for that."

"No, probably not," Michael sighed.

Liz spoke up before he could say anything else. "Will you come to Max's with me? And stay? It's the best location I can think of, but," she swallowed, forcing down tears, "I don't want to be there alone."

Michael was quiet for so long, she was sure he was going to say no. Then he stood and grabbed his shirt, slipping it over his head and following it with his black hat. "Fine. Pizza's on you."

[end chapter three]


	4. Convergent Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings required.  
~ Tas

"I've started a list. You weren't kidding about being a plain cook, tío, you have no decent spices," Rosa complained, flopping onto the couch in the kind of loose, easy movement Alex vaguely remembered being able to do, and envied now.

"If I'd known I'd be hosting the resurrected daughter of a great cook, I would have stocked up," he said dryly, and Rosa laughed.

"I'm sure you would've. So what did you get up to while I checked out the monstrosity you call a backyard?" She pointed at the laptop resting across his knees. "You working?"

"No, just finishing up a factory reboot and full update, and then you can have Internet," he smiled. "I've got a couple of computers kicking around. Figured you should have one."

Rosa squirmed around into what was apparently a more comfortable position. It made Alex feel like he'd acquired a cat, not a houseguest. "Thanks. What do you do for fun out here, Alex? That doesn't involve Internet."

"Watch movies. Read. Go for walks. Nothing terribly exciting," he admitted, knowing full well how dull it sounded.

"God, it's like you're a hundred years old, tío. Do you go into town much?"

"Some, yeah. Hang out at the Pony or the Crashdown, go to the cinema sometimes." He offered a brief smile. "Mostly I work a lot, Rosa. I've got my day job, and then I spend a lot of my free time going through secret government files about aliens, which is only going to increase with the data we were able to take from Caulfield. So, yeah. Fun has largely been replaced by bunker time."

"The one under the cabin?"

"You know about that?" Alex grimaced when she nodded. "Have you seen it?"

"No. Jim said he was getting it ready but then we decided it would be better if I got out of Roswell altogether. He got me a bed at a place in Los Alamos, and a bus ticket," her speech slowed as she mentioned the ticket and Alex glanced over to find her face draining of colour. "It was in the backpack. I had the ticket, cash, some clothes and shit in a backpack, and I'd stashed it in one of the caves out by the old mines so Liz didn’t stumble over it at home. It wasn't where I'd left it and I was looking for it when-when Isobel came in."

He was already out of the chair, laptop placed on his seat, as she started to cry. Alex slid into the space available at the end of the couch and Rosa hunched into a ball half in his lap, pressing her face against his stomach, her whole body shaking with her sobs.

He stroked her hair and otherwise let her be. Remembering your own murder was a few steps farther along than remembering losing body parts. But Rosa's crying jags had been like summer thunder before, there one minute in brilliant intensity, and gone without a trace the next. Like her anger and her joy, and pretty much everything else except her fierce, unwavering love.

Alex could wait it out.

*

As soon as Liz's taillights disappeared, Michael began to arrange the sleeping bags in the back of his truck, unzipping them so the full surface of the truck bed was covered in thick fabric.

Plywood wasn't exactly a staple at the junkyard but he could find enough sheet metal to be able to improvise doors for Max's house; that would make it adequately secure against the elements and whatever the fuck else. He stacked it onto the sleeping bags, made sure he had the correct tools, and weighted down the lot. The weight and padding would keep the metal from sliding around and sounding like the end of the world was nigh. Then Michael put the tailgate up and covered the truck bed with its tarp.

He slid onto the driver's seat and reached for the key in the ignition, and his phone rang. He usually left it on silent - he'd get back to people when he got back to them - but after the last couple of days, sound plus vibration seemed prudent.

The number wasn't one he recognised but he answered it anyway. "Hello?"

"I'm guessing the family emergency you mentioned is ongoing?"

Maria. Despite everything, he smiled. "Yeah. I'm sorry, DeLuca, I'm not going to make it back over there tonight."

She sighed. "I figured. What about tomorrow? We could meet for breakfast?"

On the one hand, that felt almost uncomfortably pushy. But the other hand was healed now and she'd seen it and right when she'd started firing questions was when Michael had felt... whatever it was he'd felt from Max. The Big Empty.

He'd put Maria off with some vagueness about family, hinting at a psychic connection. Michael had no idea yet what he was going to offer her as a true explanation. True with as little truth as he could? He was so tired of secrets.

"Thing is, DeLuca, I don't know how late this is gonna keep me tonight, and I don't want to make plans with you for morning then maybe have to back out. Late lunch instead? Midday rush is over, what, two ish?"

He held his breath waiting for her response and when it came, her voice was warm, coloured with soft surprise. "Yeah. Yeah, it dies down about half past two, starts picking up again after five. If you come by around three?"

"Three it is," he agreed, smiling. "Uh, if I do need to get hold of you...?"

"Guerin, I'm calling you from my cell phone. You can put it in your contacts. That's what I did with the number you gave me before you skedaddled." Her laugh held amusement and a hint of fondness he hoped like hell wasn't all in his head.

"So you are giving me your number," he smirked, eliciting another laugh.

"Well, you drive a hard bargain, Guerin. It's a little difficult to talk to you on the phone without actually using the phone."

The acerbic quip loosened something in Michael's chest, letting him breathe easy and drawl, "I can always erase all knowledge of it, DeLuca."

"Right, so you can ditch with the perfect excuse? I don't think so."

Michael dropped the flirtatious tone, promising, "I'll be there."

"I know you will," quietly, almost too quiet to hear, and then the dial tone buzzed in his ear.

He sighed, staring at the darkened screen while his left hand beat a restless tattoo against the steering wheel.

The shimmering handprint caught his eye. He couldn't let it be seen like that. Sanders wasn't a risk, sight impaired as he was, but otherwise, Michael needed to cover it up.

Couldn't wear a glove; it would interfere with its function too much. Although what did he know? His hand hadn't functioned well since the day Rosa had died. Healed and in a glove might be comparable. Except he needed to be able to use his fingertips for detail work and a glove would make that impossible.

Fingerless glove might work, but even in high school Michael hadn't been an emo kid, and he certainly wasn't about to start now. That aesthetic was Alex's department and he could keep it.

Michael sniffed, his nose wrinkling automatically. There had to be something in the Airstream he could use to cover the mark. Hell, an old T-shirt would do the trick.

He slid back out of the truck and headed for the trailer. Liz would just have to wait a few more minutes.

*

Isobel speared a chunk of cantaloupe melon with the silver canapé pick, watching the sharp end pierce the orange flesh, the slim shaft disappearing inside easily once breached. She could imagine the needle going into Jesse Manes's neck in a similar manner.

It was a satisfying image.

"They'll keep him at Roswell Community, right? The VA has a decent presence in the area but I know from my work with them that they don't have any inpatient facilities near Roswell so they try to make arrangements with the hospital where possible."

"Yes, that's how it usually works, from what I was told," Kyle confirmed. He sighed. "The crazy thing was just how easy it was to cover up, you know? It feels like such a flimsy story. But nobody is questioning me about it."

"Because it's simple, plausible, and they have no reason to suspect you of anything. Relax." Her voice was sharper than intended, probably not reassuring at all, but it was the truth. Isobel stabbed another piece of melon and chewed angrily.

"Yeah," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. She watched the spikes flatten under his palm and spring back afterwards, no more or less messy than they'd started. "I'm overthinking it, that's all."

Her gaze travelled to the untouched plate in front of him. "Eat your sandwich, Kyle."

"Right, right." He picked up one half and brought it to his mouth with both hands, clearly operating on standby. That was okay; eating by rote would still get him fed.

His face changed a few bites in, a small, pleased smile appearing. "You were right, Isobel. This is a really good ham and cheese."

She allowed herself a laugh. "I told you so."

Kyle's laughter was less restrained. "I knew you were someone who would actually say that."

"Of course."

He continued to eat, and she continued to watch him, in between bites of melon and sips of seltzer. By the time he started on the second half, Isobel had worked herself back around to talking.

"He's going to wake up, isn't he? The Master Sargent?" The title tripped off her tongue, an automatic honorific she’d absorbed dealing with him as part of her VA work. It tasted bitter now. Isobel would have to unlearn it.

"He should. I'm not on his medical team but with proper care, he should come out of the coma not much worse for wear. I mean, there's still risks, obviously, but that's the best outcome."

"Best for whom?" she asked coolly, noting his flinch. "Because I have to be honest with you here, Kyle: I don't give a fuck about his health. After what he's done to Michael, to the crash survivors? I want him to suffer, and then I want him to die knowing he failed."

"Believe me, Isobel, I know how you feel, but ---"

"Bullshit," she called it, spitting the word. "You lost your father, yes, when you were already a grown man, and you still have your mother. Michael's was locked up and tortured and he had to go without his whole life. Don't even try."

He disengaged one hand from the sandwich, holding it up in a conciliatory fashion. "That's fair."

"And then! For the cherry on top, Michael had to go and fall in love with the monster's son. The universe is such an asshole sometimes," she hissed with the last of her burst of fury, stabbing the piece of melon repeatedly.

"I think it's dead," he said dryly and it startled a laugh from her.

"So it is." She popped the fruit in her mouth and chewed, staring at him.

"I think we need to focus on the future and the potential hazard of this, this smart bomb for alien DNA. We can deal with the Master Sargent when he's out of the coma."

"Oh, I'll deal with him, all right," she muttered darkly.

"Isobel..."

"I'm already a killer, Kyle," she made a sharp sideways motion with one flat hand, fingers pressed together tightly, indicating he should not speak until she was finished. "Yes, someone else was piloting my body. But it was _my body_ that did it, and I remember what it felt like. The energy thrum, the way it flowed into her, and the thousandfold return that Noah siphoned off." Her eyes were wide, gaze hardened. "I won't hesitate to take care of Jesse Manes, Kyle. If and when I choose to do so, I suggest you stay out of my way."

He pursed his lips and finally nodded, staring at the plate. "I just couldn't do it. I'm not actually sure if I feel more guilty for inducing a coma, or for not committing murder."

"You did right by you," her voice softened. Isobel put the canapé pick down and reached over, squeezing his arm. "You acted in self-defense and you maintained your principles. That's important. You don't want to learn what it feels like to kill, Kyle. I'm sure Alex can confirm, it isn't nice."

She'd include Max in that group, but nobody could talk to him now, even if he could be persuaded to be polite to Kyle. Isobel swallowed against the swell of grief, trying to cling to her anger instead. It wasn't like there was a shortage of items pissing her off.

"The smart bomb," she chose a topic. "You said it's designed to put a layer of this anti-alien stuff above the ozone layer? And anything with the target DNA that tried to pass through this layer would be, eliminated, in some fashion, we don't know what."

"Right," he nodded. "From what Alex said, it'd be a passive defense, harmless to humans but deadly to aliens. The ones from your planet, anyway."

"So it would prevent the Alighting from reaching us, but would also prevent us or any other survivors we might locate from leaving," she concluded with a frustrated noise.

"Plus side, it shouldn't affect you here on the surface, if they do set it off. It would only be a problem if you tried to go into space." His smile fell somewhat short of reassurance and it reignited her full fury.

"Right, so it's fine because I won't be dead, is that it? Am I supposed to be happy about that, Valenti? That if Earth commits genocide on my species, at least I get a free pass? Should I be grateful I'm not Amy, about to hit the atmosphere?"

A laugh stuttered from Kyle's chest and he looked as surprised by it as Isobel felt. She mentally tracked what she'd just said and caught the nineties musical reference, grimacing. "It's not funny."

"No, of course not," he agreed, but she could see his chest ripple with the effort to hold it in, and despite herself, Isobel found her lips curving in a rueful smile.

"It's not," she insisted, without heat or force. Kyle looked at her and the instant their eyes met, it was all over. He started to laugh in earnest, and Isobel was helpless not to follow, laughing with him until tears rolled down both their faces.

There was room for the absurd in what felt like the apocalypse.

[end chapter four]


	5. Latent Evidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mention of child abuse/canon-typical violence and blood.  
~ Tas

*

When Michael arrived at Max's finally, he found the pizza boxes on the breakfast bar and Liz on hands and knees in the living room, cleaning. Her hair was back in a messy bun and her yellow rubber gloves were coated in red as she scrubbed up blood, wringing the sponge out in the bucket beside her. The water needed changing, going by its colour, and there was an irregular border marked by a broken line of dry sponges around the entire area.

"You know I said I'd do that," he said casually as he stepped over the glass fragments she'd obviously swept into a pile before starting on the floor.

"Yeah, but I couldn’t eat staring at it, so I got going without you."

"Logical. What’s with the sponge perimeter?"

She sat back on her heels with a sigh. "That defines the outer edges of where the blood was. I've gotten the worst of it off the floor, or I will have in another ten minutes, but I needed to mark the area so I know how much to disinfect after." Liz shrugged and looked up at him. "I've got Luminol spray and a black light, so once the area's been bleached, we can check and make sure we got it all."

Michael blinked, impressed. "That's a really good idea with the Luminol."

"I have a few," she said dryly, her smile wry.

He chuckled, acknowledging the truth with a wave. "I'm gonna grab a drink then you can tell me what to clean so I don't mess up your system."

"Get me one too, please? There's a couple of bottles on the counter. I got some nail polish remover also, wasn't sure what Max would have on hand."

"Thanks. You want it neat?"

"Yes, please."

"Coming up." And there they were, two familiar yet wildly different types of bottles, just beyond the pizza.

It felt strange, someone knowing. Someone thinking about it actively enough to realise there might be a need, or even just a want.

He chose a nice glass for Liz, one from Max's good set, and a plain black mug with a large handle for himself. No chance of mixing them up that way. And the mug was easier on his left hand. His grip strength hadn't improved any in the hours since Max had taken his scars away. That would take exercise, and time. Or it might never come back. Healing the crooked bones and cracked skin was just the beginning.

"Here you go."

"Thank you." Liz peeled off one glove to take the glass and down its contents. She offered it back to him. "God, I needed that. Could you put it by the pizza, please? I'll be able to top it up myself shortly."

"Course," Michael agreed. He drank a good portion of his mug then left it on the counter, too. "I'll look for the vacuum, get rid of the shattered glass."

At her nod, Michael went on the hunt, finding a canister style vacuum cleaner with bags in the hall closet. Perfect; they could dispose of the bags of glass with the used cleaning supplies.

He had a quick look in the other rooms off the hallway. He'd known it was a three bedroom house, but he hadn't been past the living room slash kitchen area. Hell, the only time he'd tried had been last night, and he'd had a gun pulled on him for it.

Big master bedroom with an ensuite; separate bathroom with a bathtub and shower; regular guest bedroom that looked like Isobel's work, with all the damn throw pillows; and the smallest bedroom, which seemed to have started life as an office but currently had every available surface stacked with books and nowhere to sit.

It was definitely Max's house.

Returning to the living room, he got to work clearing the glass and the remnants of the patio doors, then covered the gap with the sheet metal he'd brought, securing it to the exterior door frame. It wasn't pretty but it did the job, and there were two other exits still, not including the windows. He'd never understood why there was a separate front door all of five feet from the patio doors but it was lucky now.

By the time the metal was up, his stomach was growling and he came back inside, stepping carefully around the sponge perimeter, Liz's rubber gloves lying inside the condemned circle.

"I needed to eat before I got going with the bleach. I won't be able to smell anything else otherwise," she smiled from her perch on the couch, and Michael nodded, going to wash his hands in the kitchen and retrieve his own drink and food.

He took a seat near her with a long sigh. "Thanks for dinner."

"No problem."

They ate in silence, neither able to refrain from staring at the large damp spot on the floor.

Eventually Michael offered, "It's too bad the blood would've been too contaminated to be worth using for testing."

Liz stared at him, aghast. "That's your takeaway? You lost half your body's blood volume and the problem is that it wasn't useful?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, but since I did lose it, it would have been nice to not have to keep pricking my damn finger once you get going."

"Okay, true," she conceded. "On the subject of blood, I talked to Kyle while you were doing the doors. He said there's an incinerator at the Project Shepherd bunker, so that's what we'll do with the used stuff after. He's going to swing by in the morning."

"So he can be the big man and escort us to the site?" Michael scoffed.

"So he can just take the bags himself." There was more to it, Michael could tell, but it probably had to do with Rosa. Family stuff none of them had ever expected.

"Right, legacy conspiracy members only."

"Michael," she chided.

"It's not your species they're trying to eradicate, Liz." It irked him for reasons beyond that, but he didn't feel like sharing those.

She sighed, "You've got me there."

One of the things Michael loved most about spending time with Liz (and sometimes hated) was how reasonable she could be. If you could show her she was wrong, she accepted she was wrong, and moved forward with a different idea. He was used to having to argue up one side and down the other to get Isobel to even consider she might be wrong, and Max, well, that was a lost cause. Max never believed Max Evans wasn’t right.

"Break time is over," Liz declared, getting to her feet. "Could you get the blood by the fire pit outside, please? You're going to stay warmer than I will."

"Aye aye, Captain," he saluted her, and she laughed. It was a little laugh, but it was real, and that was all Michael could ask for, under the circumstances.

*

"I want to sleep down here."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Alex protested, glancing around the unpleasantly little-girl-ish bunker.

"Why not?" Rosa whirled to face him, hands going to her hips. "As tragic as the décor is, Jim made it for me. It's the last thing he did for me before I died, and now he's dead, and this is my goddamned room."

There wasn't anything Alex could say to that, really. He sighed, his eyebrows drawing together. "There's a vacuum in the closet outside the bathroom. If you could get it, please."

She clearly had expected to have to fight for it, and his capitulation had her off balance enough to simply nod and head up the ladder.

Alex sat on the bed, bouncing a little to check the mattress. Some kind of dense foam, which was probably how it got into this space, rolled up tight. The bedframe and the other furniture items were all ready-to-assemble and the individual pieces would have fit easily through the bunker hatch.

_'I gestated in a pod for half a century, and I hatched.'_

Michael's voice drifted to the surface of his memory and Alex wondered if certain words would always evoke a similar echo. Hatch. Pod. Console. The last one, he wasn’t likely to hear much now that he'd told Rosa he had neither X-box nor PlayStation at the cabin.

"I brought a duster, too. Which one do you want?" Rosa asked as she climbed down the ladder one-handed, the other wrapped around the carry handle of the stick vacuum.

"Duster." It would be easier on his body, and he was the taller one, too, easier to reach everywhere.

It didn't take long, not due to the division of labour so much as the relatively light coating of dust. The room might not have been cleaned in years but it also hadn't been open for much to get into it. Once they were done, Rosa put the vacuum near the ladder, along with the bedspread, replacing it with a couple of blankets from the wardrobe.

Then she flung herself onto the bed, stretching out on one side and patting beside her. "Lay with me."

Alex snorted. "As long as we're not talking biblical laying together."

"Hardly," she laughed. He sat down and swung his legs up, sitting with them straight out in front of him, then lowered his torso until he lay flat. Rosa whistled. "Check out the abs on you!"

He chuckled, "Air Force hasn't been all bad."

"It got you out of that house, so," she shrugged, and that seemed to be that, as far as she was concerned, for which Alex was grateful. "Speaking of laying with people, tell me about Michael."

And now he'd prefer to go back to questions about the Air Force. "I thought the original point of coming down here, before you decided you wanted to sleep in the creep factory, was to get away from talking about the alien stuff anymore tonight."

"Well, if I've got my timeline right, you didn't know he was an alien when you were fucking him," she said, blunt enough to make Alex feel like he'd taken a punch.

"No, I didn't," he exhaled, the admission barely audible.

"So, how did it start? I don't remember you talking about him at all."

"I thought he was straight, so." It seemed weird, now, how certain he'd been. How carefully he'd squashed all stray thoughts about the sarcastic boy with the unruly hair.

"Mm, yeah, there was a lot of talk about him and light skirts." Her laugh was dirty. "If he'd been a year older, I probably would've taken him for a test drive. But I had a rule about Liz's classmates."

"Oh, Jesus, Rosa, I didn't need to know that!"

She reached over to pat his arm, chuckling fondly. "Relax, tío. I'm not muscling in on your man."

No, that was Maria, in the here and now. He grimaced, chiding himself for the bitterness creeping in to poison his thoughts. Maria had known less than nothing before Texas. And, after, had Alex truly made himself clear? Liz's earlier confusion made him wonder. He hadn't had the courage to declare himself aloud, actually say the words, put them out there for the universe to hear. Even when he'd talked to Michael at Kyle's urging, he'd spoken of his feelings in the past tense. At Caulfield, in euphemisms.

God, did _Michael_ even know how Alex felt?

He sighed, the sound heavy and loud in the quiet underground space. A small smile appeared when Rosa patted his arm again, leaving her hand in place this time. "Where'd you go just now?"

"Thinking about crash landings, I guess."

"Let me ask you something." Rosa shifted onto her side, facing him. "Do you _want_ to be a soft place to land?"

His brow furrowed and Alex turned his head to look at her. "I don't know what you mean."

She pursed her lips. "Look. In talking to you over the past few hours, I've come to realise that you both have and haven't changed in ten years. You’re still Alex. And the thing is, one of the reasons you and I were friends was because neither of us was soft. Liz and Maria were soft. My da - Arturo was soft. But I never was. And you," she paused, sighing. "You might wear button-downs now but your spikes are still there, niño. You are steel."

It felt true, but that didn't exactly make Alex feel any better. Even if the old - to him - long familiar endearment made him smile. "So what you're saying is, I'm just naturally a crash landing, and I'd need to make some pretty significant changes to who I am to be otherwise."

"Kind of?" Rosa blew out a breath. "It's more like, there's this poem I read, about a woman who's seen as hard to love, because she's so wild. But it's that it takes courage to love her, because she's such a strong person in her own right, and what's actually hard is for other people to accept her strength and that she might not need them. That if she’s with them, it's purely by choice."

Alex couldn't help the laugh. "I should have known this would circle around to some version of, 'Just be yourself'."

She grinned. "Damn right, you should have. But if there's a picture of me beside 'free spirit' in the dictionary, then there's a picture of grown-up you beside 'still waters run deep', you know?"

"I also get 'it's always the quiet ones'," he scoffed.

"I bet! You didn't used to be so quiet, though."

"I didn't used to get someone else subjected to a hate crime for daring to touch me, either." It fell out without his permission and Alex went rigid, squeezing his eyes shut. Fuck.

The question, when it came, was soft, compassionate. "Michael?"

"Yeah."

"What happened after?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"I mean, nothing. He couldn't report it. I couldn't report it. Nothing happened." Back when he'd thought Michael had been adopted, with a situation something like his own at home, and therefore no access to medical insurance without going through his parents. Alex hadn't realised then that Michael had had no parents. No home.

Rosa had collided with the system enough to accept that, although she made an unimpressed sound. "What did your dad do?"

"Also nothing. I mean, stood over me while I cleaned up, marched me into the house to shower, but then? Nothing." Leaving a gap of time where the only bruises on Alex were the ones around his throat, light enough to easily conceal, their full potential curtailed when Michael had stepped in.

By the time those bruises had faded, his father had learned two crucial things: one, there would be no repercussions for his assaulting Michael; and two, Michael gave him unprecedented leverage over Alex. While the words were never actually spoken, it was made clear that if Alex didn't toe the line, it wouldn't be his body feeling the consequences.

Alex could take a hit. But he couldn't stand by and watch someone he cared about take that hit for him, and his father had used that revelation to ensure his compliance.

His dad's vigilance had relaxed some after he'd actually signed the enlistment papers, because that had locked Alex into the 'right' life decision. He'd managed to see Michael a few times that summer. And then he'd gone off to Basic, and he hadn't looked back.

Much.

"You signed up and that was his mission accomplished," her flat tone indicated her opinion.

"Yeah."

In case he hadn't picked up on that opinion, Rosa added, "Your father is a piece of work."

"My father is a piece of _shit_," Alex corrected, and she laughed.

"Yeah!"

"How did we end up talking about this bullshit, anyway?" The kind of stuff he never talked about outside of his mandatory post-injury counselling sessions with a doctor who was legally required to maintain confidentiality unless Alex indicated imminent harm to himself or others.

As well as the kind of stuff Rosa had usually been able to pull out of him as a teenager. She'd been the one to realise something was wrong and make him tell her what had started going on at home, without condemning him for not wanting to go to any authorities, and without ever making him feel like it was his fault.

Even so, his defences were in worse shape than Alex had thought if Rosa were getting this much out of him on her first fucking night here.

"Since you have honoured me with the truth, tío, I will do the same." She heaved a sigh, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling, removing the pressure of eye contact for both of them. "Because it's easier to talk about your fucked-up epic romance, or even your piece of shit father, than it is to think overmuch about what comes next in my life."

Alex could understand that. "We'll do it together, yeah? I've got your back."

Her smile was brief and unfathomable. "Vale."

[end chapter five]


End file.
